


The Man in the Black Fedora

by adastreia_writes



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ Storyline Event, Alternate Universe, Ateez theory, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adastreia_writes/pseuds/adastreia_writes
Summary: Seven people who knew each other once upon a time have failed themselves. Now, they're all in a deep sleep, fighting to make something of their lives, every single one out of the million they are given. Someone has to monitor them, handle the magic hourglasses they're tied to, restart them when they need to. What better keeper than the Man in black?
Kudos: 5





	The Man in the Black Fedora

**Author's Note:**

> This was my take/theory on the ATEEZ storyline for the ATEEZ Storyline Event! I'm actually hella attached to the visuals of this concept I tried to develop and I will not allow that guy at the end of Answer to go unmentioned in my theories-
> 
> Consider leaving a comment and kudos if you like it! ^^

The Man with the Black Fedora sighs as he flips the hourglass outside the tunnel. In the tunnel, a young man lies unconscious on the harsh concrete, buried deep in his sleep. His body is here, with the Man, but his consciousness is flowing through a web of realities, reliving a thousand lives, a thousand opportunities, making choices again and again. He has failed each version of himself. Now, the Man has flipped his hourglass again. Another life. Another chance. The hourglass begins to emit a blue light, its contents spilling from its glass and towards the young man’s body. The sands of time ebb and flow around him, transporting him to another new dimension. He is aware of none of it. Only the Man knows. 

“Better luck this time, Seonghwa,” the Man whispers through his mask, eyes downcast toward the young man and his glowing hourglass. His body remains unchanged, but the Man knows  Seonghwa is being uprooted. With his hands clasped behind his back, the Man turns and leaves the tunnel silently, the sounds of his footsteps and his rattling chains echoing in the void. 

Seonghwa feels as if he is sleeping. His entire life feels muddled, as if he is stuck in a cycle of dreaming and waking, again and again stretching through every day. He has friends, but they all leave eventually. He had goals, but they fester with every new wrong choice. For the longest time, he doesn’t mind it. He has  _ her _ . She stays with him, drowns him in gentle touches and kind promises. She is soft-spoken words and fiery lips, and her scent is intoxicating. She’s a friend and a partner and all the comfort he needs. She makes life feel tangible. Too bad she is also broken promises and heartache. She leaves too. Her scent is the only thing he has left of her, lingering on his sheets, in his mind, in his heart. The Man expects this. It is what Seonghwa always does. People touch him but he stays indifferent, tied to his folly by roots so deep they rip the Earth. Now, the Man waits to see what his next move will be. Like a bird of prey stalking its game from afar, he watches to see if Seonghwa’s hourglass will need to flip him into another dimension again. But he is not the only one watching.

The Man never fails to be amused by the irony of Yunho’s prison. A room full of monitors, dark, with only the light of the glitching screens and the soft blue pulse of the hourglass in the end of the room to shine on the young man in the middle. The Man often wonders why Yunho’s room manifested this way. Once, he entertained the thought that he had been made aware of his and his friends’ situation, that he knew the Man was watching them all, judging them, controlling them. Perhaps to a certain extent, he had been. Yunho had somehow always fared better than most of the others. The Man looks at his hourglass. The sand trickles quickly, glowing ever so faintly. The Man smiles. Yunho is having a hard time for the first time in a few dimensions. In most of the others, he had led a nice life, certainly, but he always failed to follow his dreams, achieve his goals. This one seems to be more of a challenge for him. Perhaps it could be the one.

Yunho thinks he hears chains clanking as he runs. For a moment he stops in the middle of the street, whipping his head around to search the crowd. San was wearing chains on his jeans when he jumped. Maybe… No. His brother is nowhere to be seen. With his phone clutched in his hand and his heart hammering against his ribcage, he takes off again, falling on pedestrians and tripping over sidewalks. He had wanted to do this with San. This dream is nothing without his brother. He needs to find him. He needs to find him now. 

The Man always takes a bit longer to examine Yeosang. His is a unique prison. Unlike all the rest, Yeosang stands, as if frozen rather than asleep. He is in an opaque glass box that looks almost like a coffin. The Man winces at the thought, fascinated as he may be. He is no killer. 

As he steps into the sand surrounding the glass box, something clatters from far away. The Man turns away from the box as if burned, snaps his head toward the sound. His fedora almost falls over wide eyes. He straightens his hat and starts walking, and if there’s a panicked spring to his step, no one else is awake to see it. 

Yeosang is also walking. And he will keep walking. Opportunities have passed by him again and again. His soul wilts and withers as time passes and he remains frozen in the prison of his mind. He doesn’t believe in dreams anymore. He missed his chances. His hourglass has run out of sand, and the Man hasn’t flipped it. He failed to look up when he needed to, and now he will forever be stuck to the asphalt until he finds himself in a dry desert no friend, no Man can save him from. 

The Man only briefly passes by San’s flowerbed. A shame. He likes to sit there sometimes. The flowers are vibrant, unlike most places in this pocket of temporal void. He crouches next to the begonias just long enough to check the hourglass. He sucks in a breath. He and Yunho are connected, and San will have to make his choice soon. He can’t flip the hourglass.

San is running and running and running. His feet are burning, he can barely breathe, his clothes are ripped. He keeps going. _He_ _can’t breathe._ He can’t take this anymore. Behind him, he hears Yunho shout out his name. He doesn’t know if he wants to stop running. 

The Man looks over Mingi’s ring of fire as he runs and scoffs. He doesn’t bother to check the hourglass again. He knows Mingi is stuck in a way he can offer no help with. He hates how Mingi believes it is his reality that restricts him, because here he was, meticulously shifting it constantly.

He can’t help. He must run. There should be no sound other than the kind he makes here. His heart starts pounding more than it ever has. 

Mingi sits on the threadbare mattress that rests on his floor. All around him, overdue bills swamp his unmade bed, white and red drowning his vision, choking him. His throat tightens and his head is pounding, loud and piercing. In his hands rest his crumpled, colorful won. He counts his cash. Checks his bank account. Looks at the flyer for the rapping seminar he wanted to attend, stark against the rest of the papers. He sighs, and his breath catches. 

_ I’ll never make it,  _ he thinks.  _ Dreams are too lavish for the poor. _

Another sound; something’s shattered. Nothing is meant to be breaking. He passes Wooyoung’s chained form and doesn’t even spare it a look.  _ Something is wrong. _

Wooyoung mentally cusses himself out. He shouldn’t have done this. He could have achieved every goal he’s ever had if he had just gone the easy way. He could have had everything if only he’d taken that scouting offer. Now he’s stuck dancing until the concrete of the parks burn his shoes’ soles first and then his feet, all for breadcrumbs and friendship. He loves his friends, but they were wrong about this.  _ He  _ was wrong. Hard labor rarely ever bares fruit. Why did he do this, why, why, why, why, why, why.

_ No! No, no, no, no… Everything broken, everything gone… The Man in the White Mask… The last hourglass… _ He needs to do something.

Jonho is sitting in the middle of a busy baseball court but he’s alone. Alone, and lonely and lost. If he hadn’t been so foolish he would still have his friend, if only he’d talked to him like he had wanted back then maybe he wouldn’t have done this. Maybe he would still be here. Every thud of the ball hitting the floor reverberates in his skull like the gunshot that killed his friend, and he’s not sure he can take this for much longer. His vision swims. His breaths are labored. What do you even do when you have let someone die, how do you continue? What will he do now?

The Man with the Black Fedora clutches the last hourglass. He managed to reach Hongjoong’s prison. He needs to wake him up, now. With a heavy heart, he goes to the coffee table in front of the boy and pushes his hourglass off it. As it lies sideways on the floor with its glass fractured, Hongjoong begins to stir, and the Man approaches him. He puts the hourglass in front of him, even as the blue haired man looks apprehensive. There’s no time. The Man in the White Mask is coming. 

  
“There are countless dimensions in the world,” he says, voice raspy from lack of use. “Go. Save them.”

His mask probably hides much of the urgency he is feeling, but Hongjoong’s look of disbelief quickly fades into understanding. He’s remembering. Good. 

Footsteps start to echo outside the room. They’re a vicious sound, boots on shards of glass scraping the floor. The Man looks to the door briefly, panting, before turning back to Hongjoong. He nods towards the hourglass. 

“There’s no time. Go.”

Hongjoong nods back. “I’ll save them,” he says with a small smile and grabs the hourglass. In a flash, he’s gone, taking the warehouse room and the coffee table with him, leaving the Man alone in an empty piece of void. He sighs with relief as he slumps back. For the first time in forever, his mask feels stifling. As the Man in the White Mask comes inside and looks around, with the chains on his face glistening, the Man pulls away his own. He takes in a deep breath, something he hasn’t done in quite some time. This is wrong. But he feels freer than ever. He smirks at the Man in the White Mask.

“You’re too late, old friend,” he says with satisfaction, “He knows what he’s doing.” 

The Man in the White Mask remains silent as he walks away again, glass breaking under his feet. 


End file.
